There are words that I don't like. There are phrases that don't sit right with me either and never have. I don't like the word cunt. I like the word pussy. I'd like to take a vacation and spend a week eating pussy. I've never wanted to spend one minute eating cunt. The two words "pussy whipped" bother me. First it's the connotation. "Pussy Whipped" means that a man has allowed a woman to get total control over his actions. He's been emasculated, not with a knife, with words and manipulation. There are other words and phrases that I don't like, but those give you the idea.
We met years ago, dated, decided we were "in love" and got married. We'd both been married before. Her first marriage lasted over twenty years and even though she says she hated being married to him they probably would still be married if he hadn't molested their oldest daughter. After their divorce and the family's emotional upset had calmed (after thousands of dollars worth of therapy) she started looking for the next "Mr. Right."
I had been married over twenty years, too. It ended when she finally told the truth that she had never loved me. She married me because she didn't think anyone else was ever going to ask her. That hurt! Twenty years with a woman who didn't love me. The sex was really good with her when it happened, but it didn't happen often and it seemed to be missing something. I never figured out what was missing until she told me that what was missing was love.
We met. On our first date we met for dinner. It went well. She talked about her kids and I talked about mine. She talked about her career and I talked about mine. We avoided mention of exes other than to both admit we had them.
The first time I was invited to a sleepover (her word) I worried. I liked her. What if the sex wasn't very good? What if I couldn't do it? It had, by then, been years since I'd bedded anyone. One of my fears was that the cannon would go off before the parade even got started. It didn't. The sex was incredible and I discovered what had been missing from my first marriage, love. She loved me!
After we had been married for a year I had a major medical incident. The kind that suddenly has one riding in an ambulance flat on their back and scared shitless it's their last ride. The incident happened at work. Someone called Beth, my wife, and told her what happened and which hospital I was taken to. When I woke up she was beside my bed and looked terrible. My immediate assumption was that if she looked that bad, I was a goner. I was wrong. The ten-ton truck parked on my chest was evidence that they had cracked open my chest and done a chapter eleven reorganization. The good news was that I'd live. The bad news was that I had lost some things in the process.
One of those things was the loss of the ability to have an erection strong enough to slide home into the woman I loved. Hell, I couldn't get stiff enough to enter a contest much less a woman. I gained some things as well. Scars. When Beth saw my scars the first time she turned ashen. I've worn a t-shirt ever since. I didn't like that look on her. I still don't like the scarred look in the mirror either.
Working with the doctors at our HMO I've tried the little blue pill, one that wasn't blue, injections and a suction pump. A waste of time money and effort. Each attempt was witnessed by Beth. She was emotionally supportive and said the things she believed I wanted her to say. When nothing worked and my penis stayed limp she said, "It'll be Ok. We can still do other fun things, if you still want to."
That year I ate pussy about once a week. I still wanted to fuck her, but eating pussy was great. I loved the feelings I got from feeling her body respond and get all the way to orgasm. In a few serious conversations with her I said I understood if she needed or wanted a discreet friend with privileges to fill her pussy with more than my fingers and tongue could supply. All I asked was that she be discreet and not stop allowing me to be the most lover I could.
She laughed off the first conversation as if I couldn't possibly be serious. During that year other changes happened. She got two promotions at work. I got downsized into being a consultant. She was making almost twice as much money as I was. Before they cracked me open I was making about twenty percent more than Beth. I was working from home.
A year later she had changed her behavior towards me. My advances had been welcomed and the orgasms appreciated at a frequency of at least once and sometimes twice a week for two years. I was physically affectionate without the push towards orgasms while allowing for our intimacy to include orgasms any time she wanted. My first wife had complained that every time we kissed she felt like I was trying to fuck her. I would have liked that, but didn't expect it would happen as often as after every kiss! With Beth I made dinner a couple times a week, started taking care of some of the jobs around the house and worked at being the husband she wanted.
When her behavior changed it wasn't gradual. The first change happened the second week of May. I made dinner for us and when Beth came home from work she smelled the lasagna in the oven and said, "I wish you had asked. I already ate. One of the other ladies at work brought in food and I pigged out." I ate some of it and put the rest in the freezer for whenever. Later that night I sat beside her to watch a TV show we watched together often. In the first segment of the show I put a hand on her thigh.
In the first commercial break she got up said she was tired and went to bed. In the second commercial break I went to the bedroom and asked if she was Ok.
"I'm tired and I want to sleep." I got the message and left her alone. When I went to bed at a little after ten she rolled so her back was towards me and never acknowledged I had awakened her.
From that night on we didn't snuggle on the couch to watch TV. We didn't touch while we ate together, as we passed in the hallway, and when I put my hand on her thigh as we went somewhere in the car she said, "Please don't do that. It makes me nervous. Just pay attention to the road."
The third week of May she got up from the dinner table and headed for the bedroom. It wasn't even eight o'clock. I followed her.
"Hey. What's going on?"
"I'm tired? Aren't I allowed to be tired?"
I pointed out what I had noticed and said, "Tired is one thing, this is more."
"So, you want to talk about this whatever-it-is now, when I want to go to sleep? Aren't you nice."
"I do want to talk about this whatever-it-is. Tell me when."
"Saturday, at noon."
I turned to leave the bedroom and said, "I'll put it on the calendar in the kitchen. Thank you."
I watched a movie on TV that night and rather than disturb her sleep I slept on the couch. When she got up in the morning she woke me and asked if I was punishing her. I sat up and asked how I could be punishing her.
"You didn't come to bed last night! I woke up twice in the night and you weren't there."
"You were so tired you needed to go to bed before eight. I decided that rather than disturb your sleep when I came to bed, I'd just let you sleep. I was trying to be a good guy."
"If I wanted to sleep alone I'd be single. Please don't sleep out here again, Ok?"
"Ok." She had breakfast and went off to work. I went to my office and worked until about two in the afternoon. I called her at work and when she answered I asked, "Shall I make something for dinner?"
"No, don't. I won't be hungry." Twenty seconds later she said she had to go and she hung up.
I started wondering if she had started seeing someone for sex and was feeling guilty. It would explain the changes. She was being discreet but her behavior was still a tip off that something was happening.
Saturday came and I started the day working on a project in our back yard. By eleven I was done and came back into the house. I had gotten muddy while I worked so standing on the back porch I stripped off my clothes and headed for the shower. I didn't see Beth in the kitchen, hallway, her office or the bathroom. I got in the shower and got clean, shampooed and shaved. When I was in fresh clothes it was almost noon. I knew our conversation was scheduled for noon.
On the wall of our kitchen we have a white board calendar. I looked and the note about our conversation was gone. In it's place a note said, "Shopping with Alison."
Alison is Beth's sister. I called Alison and Rob's house and Rob answered. I asked if Beth was there.
"Nah, she called about two hours ago and they left an hour ago with my best American Express card. They said they'd bring dinner back with them."
"Oh. Ok. Say Rob, do me a favor, Ok? Don't say I called.
"Ok. Is anything wrong?"
"I have no idea."
Beth was no longer eating my cooking. She no longer wanted my touches, hadn't made herself available for bedroom fun, and had avoided our serious conversation on purpose. Yet, she wanted to make sure I was in bed with her every night.
I waited until almost six to call her cell. It went directly to voice mail. I said, "I was just wondering what time you'll be home. Call me on my cell, Ok?" I hit stop.
It was almost eight when she parked in the garage and came inside carrying two bags from the big mall in town. I was watching TV, still dressed in fresh chinos and a nice shirt. She stopped and looked me over.
